


Guilt We Bear

by m0rkl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Geralt wants to be a good dad, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Kaer Morhen, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m0rkl/pseuds/m0rkl
Summary: "I'm sorry."“Don’t be.” The witcher wasn’t good at being gentle. His voice was low and rough, like how Ciri remembered her grandmother’s voice to be after an especially hard battle, her throat raw and sore from yells and commands. But for that reason, the girl found it a comfort. He might not be gentle, but he could be warm. “Nightmares are… difficult.”She only nodded as she sat up and pulled her blanket tightly around her shoulders. Geralt seated himself at the other end of the bedroll, a good distance away as if to give her space.“Would you…” It seemed an incredible feat for the man to speak. Like conversation and emotions were more complex than swordplay. “Do you want to, uhm, talk about it?”_____________________________Ciri has a nightmare and Geralt tries his best to comfort her, even if he hardly knows how.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Guilt We Bear

**Author's Note:**

> I finally decided to post one of the 6 or 7 mostly finished Witcher fics I have sitting in a doc... It's short, but I wanted to write something just after the two leave on their journey together. Geralt wanting to be a good dad to Ciri always got my heart like ;___;
> 
> This is mostly based on the netflix series version of the characters, but if I write more fics its gonna be a combo of the game and show

Their first night on their way to Kaer Morhen, they make camp just within the forest. There isn’t much way for them to be inconspicuous as a hulking figure and a frightened child. So the mossy ground with a small fire will have to do. Geralt has no intentions of sleeping anyways. He’ll meditate, as he often does, balancing just along the knife’s edge of consciousness to get some rest, but still be alert to any presences nearby. Ciri takes his bedroll and is curled in the worn blanket the family had given her before they had left. Three days they had spent with them before Geralt’s leg had fully recovered. It was longer than he would have liked to be in one place, but the girl needed some respite. For the first time since Cintra, she had been able to feel just an inkling of safety. Even if it was from the strange witcher her grandmother had told her to find. At the very least, she was able to fall asleep in the company of Geralt. Staying asleep, however, proved to be too much to ask. 

Cirilla awoke with tears on her lashes and guilt pooling on her tongue. She rolled over and vomited with the memory of the boy’s she used to play with in the square, their skin torn and flayed, bodies broken and bloodied. A warm hand on her back made her shudder, but she didn’t pull away. Instead she whispered a weak apology and took the square of cloth Geralt was offering her to wipe away the bile on her mouth.

“I’m sorry…” She whimpered.

“Don’t be.” The witcher wasn’t good at being gentle. His voice was low and rough, like how Ciri remembered her grandmother’s voice to be after an especially hard battle, her throat raw and sore from yells and commands. But for that reason, the girl found it a comfort. He might not be gentle, but he could be warm. “Nightmares are… difficult.”

She only nodded as she sat up and pulled her blanket tightly around her shoulders. Geralt seated himself at the other end of the bedroll, a good distance away as if to give her space.

“Would you…” It seemed an incredible feat for the man to speak. Like conversation and emotions were more complex than swordplay. “Do you want to, uhm, talk about it?”

She eyed him carefully, but the witcher was pointedly not looking back at her. He kept his amber eyes to the distance, as if surveying the forest for a monster he could deal with instead of the emotional trauma of a little girl. Ciri breathed out gently through her nose. Her mouth felt foul from the bitter vomit, but she swallowed it down rather than asking for anything to wash it away. “I, um… Dreamt about the other night.” She started, her voice barely above a whisper. “They came after me… some boy’s I knew. And they started attacking me.” Their voice’s still echoed in her ears. The cruel, bruising grips still lingered on her arms. “And then something happened. When I woke,” Tears welled up in her eyes and began to slip down her cheeks, feeling warm against her icy skin. “They were dead. I killed them.”

“They attacked you first.”

“They were Cintrans! My subjects…” Her sobs came out in quiet little bursts, like she was determined to hold it all in. “I killed my own people.”

“Ones who would have sold you out to Nilfgaard for a pint of ale.” It was a poor attempt at comfort, but he meant it nonetheless. “Hardly the type worth your tears, little one.”

“Still. I hurt them. And I…” Her face scrunched up, wavering between pain and confusion. “I feel guilty, but at the same time… I’m glad they’re dead and I didn’t get taken. Does that make me evil?”

“Protecting yourself from those who wish you ill is not evil.” Geralt could tell her that for certain. He could also tell her how Calanthe had slaughtered those who were technically 'her people' for less, but somehow he doubted that would improve the girl's mood any. “I’ve killed my own kind before. When I was a child. Not much older than you.”

“Your kind?”

“A witcher. Another boy from my school.” This wasn’t the sort of thing Geralt did, talking about his past. Even Jaskier knew little of his upbringing beyond Geralt's clarifications of the myths of Kaer Morhen. But Ciri was different. Everything was going to be different from now on. “Not your sort of schooling, with royal tutors and lessons in manners. At the time, we were learning magic.”

“You can use magic?” Her curiosity was genuine and something about her made it easier to speak.

“Simple spells and charms, yes, but I’m no mage.” He said, shaking his head. “We were learning Axii. A sign used to calm aggressive beasts in order to help me strike them down. But.” He paused, closing his eyes and letting out a silent breath. This was not a pleasant memory for him. It felt bitter and acidic at the back of his throat. But she didn’t need the full details of the story. Just the point of it all. “That’s not the only use of the spell. Another student, back then stronger than me. And better at magic, decided to try it as a form of mind control. He wanted to make me do things, but I broke free and then I killed him.” It was the first of his witcher brother's blood on his hands, but it would not be the last. Kaer Morhen was not a kind place for young boys and they were not always kind to each other either.

"And you were okay with it?"

"Not at all." Geralt admitted with full honesty. She looked up at him with wide eyes, bright with tears. "I mourned. For a long time. And the guilt stays with me to this day." There was a deep muted pain in his chest. Those emotions he tamped down for years upon years felt sharp and jagged where they lay. "However, I have learned that just because someone is fighting for the same side, does not make them on your side. Protecting what you have is all you can do. And sometimes, what you have is your morals or your health. Sometimes, it’s the people you care about.”

"I think... that makes sense." She dabbed her face with her blanket, shivering slightly in the chill night air.

“I’m going to protect you, Ciri. As best I can.” He reached his arm out, simply to put a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. However, Ciri took the motion for more and scooted herself to be tucked against his side. He hesitated, but ultimately put his arm around her and let her lean against him. “And I will teach you how to fight. So that you can protect what you have. Whatever it may be.”

“Thank you.” Sleep came to reclaim her as she gazed into the fire.

And for the first time in a long while, Geralt felt warm.


End file.
